The Elevator Code
by AmiRide
Summary: It's awkward being stuck in an elevator. It's really awkward being stuck in an elevator with a hot guy. It's really, really awkward being stuck in an elevator with a hot guy when there are four other strangers and a dog. And it's even more awkward when the said elevator is probably not going to budge for the next seven hours. Yup, sometimes when you're stuck, you're really stuck.
1. Chapter 1

**New fic! Yay!**

**How was everyone's Christmas? I missed you all. :)**

**This idea popped into my head when I was stuck in an elevator with five other, um, interesting people. Why not turn it into a fic?**

**REVIEWS!**

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You know that really awkward silence when you're in an elevator with a bunch of strangers? No one wants to talk to each other or even look at each other, so you're kind of just pacing around (well, not really. You don't want to get to close to them, after all.), waiting for the elevator to stop at your floor so you can leave and never have to see those people again.

Well, apparently some people don't understand this unspoken code of silence. Like the blond guy who was standing next to me. Right next to me. As in, too close.

"Hey," he said suavely, inching another inch too close to me. He flipped his head so his hair got all over his face, in that way that boys think is cool but really isn't.

I didn't answer. The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the old lady who was in the elevator with us got off and hobbled away, trailing a big, heavy-looking bag behind her.

Great. Now it was just me and Blond Boy. I tapped my foot impatiently and glared at the screen that was flashing red every time we hit a different floor, willing it to go faster. What idiot would make a building with two hundred and seven floors? What building could possibly need that much space? More floors just means more elevator time with strangers that you don't want to be around. And of course, my stop had to be on the last floor, 207. Yay.

"I'm Dylan," Blond Boy continued, when he saw he wasn't getting an answer. "You?"

I stared at the screen in response.

Stupid idiot didn't let that discourage him, though. "I'm stopping on the thirteenth floor. What about you?"

The thirteenth floor? We were still on the fifth. Stupid elevator seemed to be moving about a floor every five minutes. I considered kicking it.

He seemed utterly nonplussed that I was paying less attention to him than to the fly buzzing around my hair. "I'm here to see my sister's office. You?"

I didn't answer that I was here to find a job. Why should he know?

Silence. Then the elevator made a 'ding' noise as we hit the eighth floor. This had to be the slowest elevator in the universe. Just my luck.

Blond Boy decided to skip over all his other lame conversation starters. "So, you got a number?"

He was kidding, right?

He cleared his throat. "Mine is 754-333-2513."

Apparently, he was not kidding. Guess what I did? If you guessed that I smiled at him and took his hand, then you, sir, are a complete and utter idiot.

More silence.

The fly buzzed next to my ear, and I swatted it. Blond Boy tried to touch my arm and I swatted him too. I jammed the button with the number thirteen on it, hoping we would get there soon so he could get off.

When the elevator door finally opened, centuries later, Blond Boy stepped out and glanced regretfully back at me. The fly flew out with him. I pressed the 'close door' as hard as I could, shutting out Blond Boy's puppy-dog face.

I leaned against the wall and let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally alone. Whew.

No sooner had I thought that that the elevator door opened again. I glanced up. A guy about my age had stepped into the lift and was now pressing the button of the 65th floor.

He was good-looking. Really, really good-looking. The kind of good-looking that you noticed even when you were trying not to. And boy, was I trying. But as much as I looked away, my eyes kept being drawn to the lock of inky hair that flopped down in his eyes, or his supernaturally long eyelashes, or the well-defined stomach muscles that were peeking through his shirt without him realizing. And I think he might have noticed, too. But unfortunately this guy, unlike Blond Boy, seemed to understand the unbreakable rule of elevator silence and made no attempt at conversation.

The elevator crept up the floors slowly, pausing every now and then. It was the only thing in this building that wasn't new or modern. I was tempted to ask New Guy what his name was, then realized that if I did I would become Blond Girl to him. The creepy, persistent silence-rule-breaker on the elevator. So I kept quiet.

He was staring at the screen, probably willing it to go faster, but he must have realized after a while that he was probably going to be in here for a good five minutes, so he stared at his shoes instead. They were black Adidases, worn out and cuffed, probably from playing soccer or just plain carelessness. Now that I thought about it, almost everything he was wearing was black. His jeans were as dark as they come, and he was wearing a black tee-shirt that was riding up his stomach without him noticing, so I got another peek of the abs it was hiding. Even his hair was raven, and his eyes—which I got a good look at when he was staring at the ceiling—were so dark that I couldn't see where his iris ended and his pupil started. He kept fingering a black necklace that he had around his throat—not the girly kind, I noted straight off the bat. It was a piece of black cord with a silver pendant of a tiny surfboard on it, which would have ended right where the top of his shirt started if he hadn't been fumbling with it with his fingers.

I stole occasional glances at him when I could help it as the elevator shook and rattled up the next few floors. Soon we fell into a comfortable-ish kind of removed silence. Well, we were just more relaxed, probably because each felt better that the other knew of the secret code of elevators, like a kindred spirit, maybe. I was a few feet away from him, and we were determinedly not looking at each other, until I peeked at him when he wasn't looking. He didn't notice for the most part, but once I caught him looking back at me. We both immediately pretended not to notice each other. I was sure my face was the color of a fire hydrant right now.

The silence was awkward now. "So..." I trailed off. He threw a startled glance at me, as if only remembering I was there.

Oh, crap. I clamped a hand around my mouth. The unspoken code of elevator silence was not a rule that I ever thought would be broken by me. And obviously, by the look he gave me, he thought so too. Crap.

He looked back at the screen. Shoot. Now everything was all awkward again.

I sighed audibly. Hot Guy ignored me.

Suddenly, the elevator lurched to a stop. 65th floor? We couldn't be there already!

But when I checked the screen, we were only at the thirty-ninth. Why were we stopping?

The door wasn't opening.

"Do you think we're stuck?" Hot Guy acknowledged me for the first time.

I shrugged. "Maybe." I struggled to keep my face composed. I had a job interview in, like, twenty minutes, and judging from the speed of this dinosaur, even if it wasn't stuck, it would take me fifteen minutes to get there. I couldn't deal with a stuck elevator right now.

"Why isn't it opening?" a frustrated girl's voice rang out. "I keep pressing the button!" My ears perked up.

"Maybe that's why it's taking so long, Nudge," said another voice exasperatedly. I didn't even need to see the guy talking to know that he was rolling his eyes.

Finally, the door creaked and shuddered open, and a girl with curly brown hair and a super tall blond guy stepped in. The guy was around my age, and the girl might have been younger, but it was hard to tell.

"Fifty-two, fifty-two..." the girl muttered under her breath, scanning the list of floors. "Aha!"

"Can you press seventy-one for me?" The guy asked, his voice quieter than it had been outside.

"But, Ig-gy," the girl complained, "you promised!"

The guy looked like he wanted to argue back, but he decided against it and leaned against the wall, blond hair flopping in his eyes.

One of the amendments of the elevator code of silence (number five, I think) states that if two people in the elevator know each other, they are allowed to talk. So their interaction should have been perfectly fine. But obviously the boy knew the code of elevator silence through and through, because his voice was soft, and the girl, however, was yelling her head off.

"Ig, I promised to see that horrible movie with you if you would do this!"

"Okay, Nudge, I'll come," said Tall Blond Guy hastily. "And keep your voice down."

Curly Hair Girl looked delighted, then harrumphed and leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed.

I stared at the ceiling the entire time. There was a mirror on the ceiling, so I wasn't defying the rule against staring at other elevatorees.

Curly Hair Girl and Tall Blond Guy exchanged different looks for a while but stayed quiet, and Hot Guy was still not looking at me. I gave another small sigh as we progressed from level 42 to 43.

The elevator made another shuddering stop that would have thrown Curly Hair Girl against the opposite wall had Tall Blond Guy not caught her wrist. She rubbed her wrist angrily and scowled at the door.

Which, by the way, wasn't opening.

"Do you think we're stuck?" asked Curly Hair Girl asked Tall Blond Guy.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I hope not."

More silence.

"No, Total, down. Total, stop pawing at the door." A commanding girl's voice rang through the elevator. It sounded like she was talking to...a dog? But I wasn't hearing any barking. And what kind of a name was Total?

"Angel, he's barely doing anything. Besides, is this thing even coming?" another voice asked.

"It should be," the girl said. It was then that the door decided to chug back reluctantly.

"Finally," said the girl whose voice we'd been hearing. She had butter-yellow curls that spilled down her back. In fact, her hair looked a little like mine, just longer. The guy next to her was evidently her brother, and was narrowing his blue eyes at the little dog whose leash the girl was clutching.

"Stop sniffing my leg, Total. I already gave you bacon this morning." He took a strip of something out of a napkin in his sweatshirt and popped it in his mouth.

The little black dog seemed to glare right back at him.

"Seventy-two," said the girl. It took me a while to realize she was talking to me. I quickly pressed the button.

More awkward silence. Curly Hair Girl was eyeing Bossy Blond Girl as if she was trying to figure something out, and Tall Blond Guy was staring wistfully at Blond Bacon Guy's pocket, in which he had stowed his napkin full of bacon. Hot Guy was determinedly looking at the ceiling, and I was staring at the wall with the buttons stuck on it.

I couldn't wait until we got to the seventy-second floor and then I would be in peace.

Not that it wasn't peaceful here, but really, it _wasn't. _I kept catching Curly Hair Girl staring at me, and Hot Guy, who had been forced by the arrival of Bossy Blond Girl and Blond Bacon Guy to scoot over next to me, was not paying the slightest bit of attention to me.

Now Bossy Blond Girl's dog was sniffing at my foot.

_What are you looking at? _I asked it in my head, giving it a look. It retreated.

Plus, this elevator was so small that we were all practically touching.

Yay.

I'd never wanted to get out of an elevator so badly before. My discomfort was almost tangible, jumping and skittering right in front of my eyes. The only thing that was keeping me from kicking the elevator until it broke was the fact that, for the time being, it _wasn't_ broken.

The only thing worse than riding slowly in an elevator with a hot guy, four strangers, a dog, and a job interview on the line was being _stuck _in an elevator with a hot guy, four strangers, a dog, and a job interview on the line.

The elevator lurched once again to a stop. And stayed there.

"Are we on the fifty-second floor already?" Tall Blond Guy looked confused when the screen only flashed the number 42.

"Do you think we're stuck?" Bossy Blond Girl asked Blond Bacon Guy.

"Maybe." He shrugged. "I hope not."

"Nah," Curly Hair Girl assured them. "It always does that when someone else is getting on." Bossy Blond Girl nodded.

But the door still wasn't opening.

_Open, open, _please, I thought, tugging nervously on the end of my braid. A few strands came loose in my hand and I cast them away in annoyance, still staring at the screen. My entire near future hung in the red pixels of the ancient elevator screen, and a few strands of hair were not going to distract me.

It was only after two minutes that it sunk in.

"We're stuck," I realized, just as I saw about my whole future crumbling into dust in front of me.

No job interview today.

Because if I was already late, and this elevator was stuck, that meant that…

I, Maximum Ride, was stuck in an elevator with a hot guy, four strangers, a dog, and as an aspiring journalist, my educated guess about the situation was that I was probably not going to become a New Yorker journalist today.

Goody.

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**Oh, yeah. Reviews, baby, reviews. I can see them already: _Whoa you are like the most amazing person ever. I worship you._**

**JK. But I really would like reviews, so review!**

**Obviously, there is no code of elevator silence. Max just made that up. Did you guys like that?**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR, BY THE WAY! Anyone else have midterms? Yuck.**

**Gonna go make more cookies now. Bye!**

**~Ami****


	2. Chapter 2

**Second chapter! Thanks for all the reviews/follows/favorites. I was particularly amused at how many of you actually reviewed, "Woah you are like the most amazing person ever. I worship you." You guys are all rock stars. Rock on and review! :D**

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The world was closing in on Nicholas "Fang" Walker.

It had already been bad enough being alone in the elevator with that pretty girl, feeling awkward and not knowing what to say. Not that he said much usually. But the girl's wide brown eyes had made him want to spill all of his most embarrassing secrets, or blurt out random things about his life.

"Hi, I'm Nick!" He winced as he imagined actually starting to blab about himself. "I'm twenty-three years old! My mom's name is Anne! She's blond and she works for the FBI! My friend Ratchet is blond too! Funny how stuff like that happens, huh? By the way, I think your hair is _fabulous_. It's blond, did you know that?"

He groaned and leaned against the railing. Perfect. Now he was gay as well as awkward in his imaginary conversation. Not that it wasn't a totally girly thing to have an imaginary conversation with someone he thought was cute anyways.

_Hey_, said a high-pitched voice in his head. Nick looked around, surprised. No one was looking at him, much less talking to him._ Calm yourself, sugar baby,_ the voice soothed_. It's just me, your girly side._ The voice almost seemed to twirl around. _Your gay side._

Nick closed his eyes.

Now he was hearing voices too.

But gay side or no gay side, he was glad for the distraction, because as soon as Really Pretty Girl announced, "We're stuck," (even if it was in a really pretty voice like crystal), he remembered who he was and where he was and that the walls now looked as if they were going to cave in on him.

He gulped.

He had claustrophobia. It had never really been a problem, but he had felt a little awkward explaining to his high school girlfriend, Lissa, why they couldn't go make out in a supply closet and why they had to risk getting caught in an empty classroom instead. And he'd always preferred to leave doors open when he had the choice. But there was nothing he could to do escape it now. The world started spinning, and his perception was gradually deteriorating, his vision going a little fuzzy around the edges, the colors fading, the people in the elevator slipping in and out of focus. He held is breath, starting to feel nauseous and worried he would throw up all over Really Pretty Girl's cute clunky boots. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in an elevator—with a cranky, extremely pretty girl.

"What?" Curlytop looked frantically to her friend, Blond Beanpole. "This can't be happening. Tell me this isn't happening."

"It's happening," he assured her. She closed her eyes.

"No," she moaned. "I was supposed to meet Ms. La Fever like, now. _Cinnamon Allspice La Fever, _Ig!"

"Ms. La Fever?" Commander Little Blond turned to Curlytop. "No way. No. Way."

"I know, right?" Curlytop threw her hands up in the air. "And it was a one-time thing, too!"

Commander Little Blond shook her head sympathetically, understanding the level of pain this was causing the curly-haired girl.

Nick had no idea who Ms. La Fever was, but evidently she was a big deal.

The Baconmeister rolled his eyes and patted Little Dog. Blond Beanpole closed his eyes.

"How long do you think we'll be stuck?" asked Curlytop, looking anxious.

"Let's just wait and see," Blond Beanpole decided.

And they did wait, at least for a little while. They weren't waiting patiently, though. Curlytop looked like someone had poured a shovelful of ants down her jeans. Commander Little Blond had snatched up Little Dog and was having a staring contest with the wall. Blond Beanpole was fiddling with a couple of wires that he had procured out of nowhere, and they were starting to make Nick worried. Meanwhile, the Baconmeister was muttering words under his breath, shaking his head, counting on his fingers, and starting over. Really Pretty Girl was tugging on the end of her braid, which Nick thought was adorable.

_I think that blond guy is cute_, his gay side snickered. _The one in the blue hoodie with the bacon. _

_Shut up_, Nick thought. Wonderful. Now he was having a conversation with a voice in his head. A _gay _voice. All he needed now were some pink jeans and a room in an insanity ward.

They waited for about ten minutes, and Nick had no idea how everyone was keeping so calm, or at least not making any noise. He himself was short of breath and was starting to go a little fuzzy-eyed from the pressure of the tiny elevator. Finally, as he saw the red "42" flicker out and die, it dawned on him that they truly were stuck.

"We're stuck." He voiced the thought out loud. "It's not moving anymore. It's broken."

"Nooo," Commander Little Blond groaned.

"Out of all the high-tech, fancy elevators this place has, we just had to end up in the one elevator that hasn't been renovated for the last hundred years," Blond Beanpole muttered exasperatedly.

"What if we don't get out of here?" the Baconmeister wondered worriedly. "We have to get out of here."

"If we stay in here for long enough, we'll probably run out of oxygen and die," Curlytop informed them, seemingly unconscious of the effect these words would have on the others, spouting out the fact as if she recited textbook information with every intake of breath. Nick was forcibly reminded of Hermione Granger.

Nick's head was turning at a faster and faster rate, the world spinning into oblivion and his vision gradually going completely white. He didn't need that last piece of information, and apparently neither did the others, because utter chaos ensued.

Commander Little Blond screamed. Little Dog leaped out of her arms and growled at the elevator door before curling up in a ball at her feet, whimpering. Curlytop realized what she had said and slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor where she put her head in her arms, curls spilling over her face. The Baconmeister gave a small yelp and put his hands under his armpits, forcing himself to calm down. Blond Beanpole noticed the 'Emergency' button and jammed it repeatedly with his thumb. Nick only caught flashes of the scene, because he was slowly going blind, his head aching, his palms sweating, and his eyelashes fluttering over his eyes, not sure whether close over the eye, swallowing the scene, or let him suffer longer. The noise was overwhelming, ringing in his ears, banging against his temples.

"HEY! QUIET!"

A strong female voice rang out, slicing through the noise and shattering the cacophony. It was so willful, powerful, that they all fell immediately silent. Nick waited until the ringing in his ears stopped, and tentatively opened one eye.

Really Pretty Girl was standing calmly, waiting for their attention.

"Okay," she said once she had it. "We have to figure out what we're going to do. Chaos won't help. Let's stay organized, okay?" They nodded. Her voice was calm, gentle, as if reaching out and caressing each of them soothingly in turn, but still firm. It was easy to see that she had experience as a leader.

"Thanks. Does anyone have a cell phone with them right now?" She went on, looking relieved.

Commander Little Blond, Blond Beanpole, and the Baconmeister raised their hands.

"Let's see if we can dial the receptionist," she continued.

"Why the receptionist?" Curlytop asked, confused.

"Because we can check if it's a minor problem that can be fixed immediately. If we call 911, there'll be a whole fuss, and half of the time they need to break something in the building to get us out."

Curlytop nodded. A springy curl of glossy brown hair tumbled down her back and almost slipped into the back pocket of her jeans. She had the longest hair Nick had ever seen.

Commander Little Blond took out a silver Nokia phone, which let out several excited beeps and turned black with a popping noise. "Out of battery." She shook it, looking frustrated, and stuck it back in her pocket.

Blond Beanpole slid his backpack from his shoulder and reached for his phone, an iPhone with several severe scratches running from top to bottom. "I have no signal," he announced miserably. He threw his phone back into the bag, zipped it up, and kicked the bag to the corner of the elevator glumly.

Nick understood why his phone was so beat-up.

"You?" Really Pretty Girl pointed awkwardly to the Baconmeister before seeming to realize she didn't know his name. He handed her his Samsung, and she typed in a series of numbers with quick little jabs and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?"

Pause.

"Hello?"

Pause.

"Helloooo?"

She sighed and retyped the number, with no success. "I can't reach her," she announced. "Let's try 911."

Just then, the Baconmeister's phone died.

"I hate my life," he muttered, taking back the phone and shoving it in his pocket. "I HATE MY LIFE!" He kicked the elevator wall, rattling them around. "Why can't we just get out, dammit?"

"Hey," Really Pretty Girl said soothingly, "stay clam. We can get out of here. Did you try the emergency button?"

"Yes," Blond Beanpole said. Really Pretty Girl gave him a look.

"Well, try again," Curlytop prompted him. He pressed the button lightly, and it fell off. Little Dog started howling.

"Well, there goes that plan," Blond Beanpole muttered. Really Pretty Girl took a few deep breaths, steadying herself, calming herself.

"Well," she decided, "it looks like we'll be in here for a while." She sat down and brought her knees up to her chin, butter-colored hair tumbling out of her braid and over her forehead.

"My name is Max," she said. "Who are you?"

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**OOH. There are actual chills down my spine.**

**Anyways, Iggy's POV is next! Please tell me why you think each member of the flock was going to that particular building. I need suggestions!**

**Thank you, all you lovely people out there. Since I am on a poetry kick, I will treat you to one of the many poems I will be posting:**

**Cheesecake is delicious,**

**I like reviews**

**And giraffes.**

**_by AmiRide._ :D**

**~Ami****


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